


Schrödinger's Answers

by shameless_rogue



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: (kinda), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Angst, Angst and Humor, Charles speaks German with a British accent, Childhood Memories, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Shaw is Erik's stepfather, almost a teacher au, and Erik is the one teaching, pretty depressing childhood memories, so its angsty anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shameless_rogue/pseuds/shameless_rogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's this friend of Emma's who actually thinks that he should be fluent in German to survive the one single semester he's about to spend in Munich. He also thinks that it's fine to have ocean blue eyes and a disgustingly adorable accent. And, for some reason, he also thinks that Erik's past is worth dealing with.<br/>Erik doesn't need his help anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the kind of person who watches Apocalypse ten times only to sit down and write a First Class fic.  
> I'm also the kind of person who tries to write a fluffy and romantic college-kinda AU with puppies and rose petals and strictly without any drama, and fails epically.

„I thought you needed money.” 

„I thought you had some respect for me.” 

„Literally giving you the best chance of your life doesn’t seem that disrespectful to me.” 

„Emma.” Erik crossed his arms over his chest. „I'm not going to _teach_ anybody.” 

„You're saying that like teaching was a bad thing.” 

„You're saying that like I had ever tried teaching.” 

„God.” Emma rolled her eyes and reached into her bag for another cigarette. The previous one was still lying on the ash tray with a circle of shiny purple lipgloss around its filter and with one last, sad trail of smoke flying into the air. „What the hell are you planning to do with your life then?” 

She had a huge bag (Erik sometimes wondered how many crocodiles had been seriously harmed for it) but it did not seem to contain one single lighter. Erik handed over his own zippo with a theatrical sigh. She took it without even attempting to say a thank you, or a fuck you, at least; but she gave the cigarette to him first. 

„That was the minimum,” he grunted, and Emma laughed at him wholeheartedly. 

„I could hear that, fuckboy.” 

„Fuckboy,” Erik repeated, completely lacking surprise. „Couldn't you think of anything more flattering? Or more creative, at least.” 

„Let’s just say I wasn’t really trying.” Emma shot a glance at him and he let her take back the cigarette. „Talking about fuckboys, the guy you should teach—” 

„You have no idea how uninterested I am.” Erik climbed out of Emma's lap and managed to get up from the couch, despite her best efforts to hold him back by wrapping her legs around his waist. Heading over to the kitchen for another glass of beer, he could hear Emma shouting something after him, probably along the lines of „I swear you'll love him” but he did not even bother looking back to shoot a murderous glance at her. 

The kitchen was located in the small chamber that was originally supposed to be used as a bedroom. At least this is what Erik was convinced of, considering the room's size (tiny), light conditions (dark) and construction (very much attic) so he regularly knocked his head on the ceiling, whenever he forgot himself and tried to straighten up. There was, however, an old fridge in one of the corners, which probably found it natural and acceptable to stop working in the middle of July when they needed it the most, but Erik could usually make it function again with only a bit of goading. 

He had needed to goad it four times this year. 

It was July 3th. 

It was also time for Emma to get a new fridge if she was not planning to die because of the lack of cool alcohol inside her body. 

Erik opened the door of the rattling machine, silently praying that it would turn off and stay like that this time; then grabbed two bottles of beer and popped them both open with one of his keys. More precisely, with one of the keys that had belonged to Emma's flat and had the function of ensuring that she could not lock herself out even if she lost ring of keys number one on a drunken night, before he borrowed them. 

"Stole!" Emma corrected him and he shook his head, grinning, already on his way to return to the cosy plush couch in the living room. 

"Will you ever stop sneaking into my brain?" he asked from the doorway. 

"Your mind," Emma corrected again and stubbed her cigarette out. "Talking about sneaking, I also heard the one about ruining my fridge for ever." 

"I don't want to ruin it, I want it to stop working all by itself." 

"Good thing you're here to prevent that from happening." She literally winked at him before pulling back her legs and patting the now free part of the couch. Erik wedged himself into the gap between woman and armrest and put down the two bottles on the ground, right next to the ash tray. Emma lifted one slender eyebrow and reached for the bottle closer to her. 

"Choose wisely," Erik warned her. "One is frozen. Thanks to your dear fridge, by the way." 

"Yeah, and the other is still boiling hot." She grabbed the cold one with safe hands and pressed it against her forehead. "Don't mess with a telepath, fuckboy." 

"Did this just become a permanent nickname?" 

"Yep." The heat of her skin was seemingly enough to melt the frozen beer because she took a sip now, let out a satisfied sigh and wiped her wet mouth clean with the back of her free hand. Erik pushed a silent _"bitch"_ towards her, and her lips curled up into an evil grin. 

"Now, this is the moment that you made your new nickname last forever." 

Erik rolled his eyes and reached for the bottle that had been left on the ground. A mere second later he spat a mouthful of beer into the ash tray. 

"What are you—" Emma started, but she never finished the sentence. "You know what, don't even bother answering, just clean it the fuck up." 

"You were the one who made me drink beer that tastes like piss." 

"It doesn't technically taste like piss, it's only its temperature that makes you think that." 

"I hate it when you start talking like that." 

"Like what?" 

"Like, I don't know, like an expert. Like you're smarter than me." 

Emma slapped the back of his neck with a cheerful smile. "God, you'll love Charles." 

"Charles?" 

"The guy you're going to teach." 

"I am not—" 

"Don't do this, please, he will be _so_ disappointed." Emma grinned at him and grabbed the warm bottle before Erik could have let it fall to the ground. "It's pretty rude to cancel an appointment less than twenty-four hours before, you know." 

Just a moment earlier, Erik had felt very proud of himself for not jumping to his feet and beginning to walk up and down the tiny aisle between the couch and the kitchen door; but he did it now anyway, using the huge distance of five whole steps for the procedure. 

Emma sprawled out on the couch more comfortably. 

Erik grabbed his hair and seriously considered tearing some out. 

"So what you're trying to tell me is, that this guy—" 

"Charles." 

"This guy thinks I'm meeting him _tomorrow_?" 

"Got it, so you have problems with the date." 

"Of course I do!" 

"Great!" All of a sudden, Emma sat up straight and pulled her phone out of her bag. She somehow managed to find it at her very first attempt this time. "We can change that anytime, when do you want to have your first lesson?" 

Erik stopped halfway through a step. He then put down the leg he had left in the air. "I never said I was going to agree to this whole teaching stuff." 

He only earned an omniscient grin from Emma. 

"Maybe, but the date was the biggest problem for you, wasn't it?" 

"Not quite the _biggest_ —" 

"But the only one that can be solved in like three seconds." She had already unlocked her phone and was now typing something, probably a message to this unknown guy. "So, when do you have time for him?" 

Erik lifted his gaze to the ceiling but all he saw were the somewhat disgusting moulds he had grown quite familiar with in the past few years. "I do _not_." 

"Come on, dear." Emma stood up as well and walked over to him, only to start gently massaging his tense shoulders. "You look so frustrated. Relax." 

"Don't even try, you won't convince me of anything." Emma's hands stopped moving and her nails dug into the fabric of his loose t-shirt. He hissed as one of them hit a massive knot just above his right shoulder blade. "Shit, Emma!" 

"I just want to help you." Her hands slid over to his chest and she actually hugged him close from behind. With the obvious purpose of making it more comfortable for herself to whisper right into his ear. "How long are you going to keep telling yourself that you won't starve to death without an actual job?" 

"I have a job." He repaired his friends' home appliances sometimes, if they needed it, which meant at least five times a year, considering the existence of Emma's fridge and the number of the people he was friends with. "And it's still way better than yours." 

"It's thanks to my job that we survived our first year here." She sold cheap weed near a high school.  "Come on, Erik, he's _pretty_." 

"I don't trust your taste." 

"Alright, when was the last time you talked to someone who wasn't me or Azazel?" 

"I'm not that desperate." 

"When was it?" 

Erik had enough pride left in himself to let her beg for another five minutes before giving in. Later he accused her of telepathically influencing his decision. She laughed directly into his face. 

 

* 

 

So this is basically how he ended up standing in the middle of his own living room in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, glaring into a mug of strong coffee and silently praying this guy would be late. Or maybe, if he arrived too early and Erik could make him feel awkward by merely showing him the state he was in right now—that would be even more amazing. 

Erik had a tendency to dislike strangers described as "nice" and "kind" and "likeable" and "even you'll find him attractive" by Emma. 

Erik also had a tendency to purposefully oversleep on days when he should not have been late, only to make said strangers feel just as uncomfortable as he was in their presence. But that was alright. His everyday routine of getting up a few hours earlier than necessary and exercising until his mind was clear and his whole body covered in sweat got a bit boring from time to time. 

Come-on-he's-pretty guy was supposed to arrive at nine, which meant that Erik still had fifteen minutes left to get ready. After finishing up his coffee and precisely washing the mug he decided there was no way that the guy was going to be early, so he marched into the bathroom (it also functioned as the shower itself, which was no surprise given its size and convenience) and started washing himself with moderate efficiency. The sewage system did, however, not really seem to cooperate, and he eventually turned off the freezing cold water with an irritated growl. And that was when he heard the gentle knocks from the direction of the front door. 

Not that his flatlet had any other doors. 

Erik swore loudly, then tried to find his boxers, then swore again while forcing them up his thighs. The display of the microwave oven showed exactly nine o'clock. 

He managed to put on a more or less clean t-shirt (there were no conspicuous stains on it), and he even had a few seconds to push his hair out of his face before ripping the door open. 

"Hey, I thought you'd be—" And that was when he decided to never finish the sentence and tried to send a loud _"you fucking described him as pretty"_ towards Emma, even though he was pretty sure she would not hear it from such a big distance. The guy in the doorway absent-mindedly scratched his left temple with two fingers; he looked a bit confused for a moment, but he found his voice surprisingly quickly. 

"Less late?" he asked, and Erik really needed some time to realize that he was finishing what Erik had started. "I apologize, seriously; it required some time to figure out that the entry phone wasn't working that excellently, and if it hadn't been for that very nice young man from the third floor, I would probably still be standing on the street." 

The boy was literally shining at him. 

Erik cleared his throat. 

"Come in." He stepped out of the way and his guest entered the flatlet, only to start observing it with a cheerful smile. He walked to the wall on the left side to look at the metal counter which was supposed to function as a more or less proper kitchen; he glared at the cold turquoise wall, probably in search for photos or paintings or any piece of decoration people usually put on empty vertical surfaces; he almost tripped over the kitchen table (sometimes writing desk, mostly coffee table) but managed to stay balanced and started admiring it instead. Erik, meanwhile, climbed up the rickety ladder that led up to the gallery, right above the bathroom. There was a mattress on the floor here, and a bookshelf with one last condom on it (he decided to hide it under a book, even though he was sure his guest would not freak out if he saw it). But the important thing was that he found a loose tank top under the bedsheets, and, after a few moments of searching, his black jeans as well. 

By the time he climbed back down, fully clothed and a bit more relaxed this time, the boy was done checking out the still muggy shower and the tiny pantry next to it where Erik kept his vacuum cleaner, most of his clothes and two pairs of steel toe boots. (They were both necessary, he had sworn to Emma after buying them on the same day with her money, the one was safe enough to be considered appropriate for work; the other was simply stylish, but honestly, who could have left a pair of Dr Martens boots in the shop when they were on sale?) He was now sitting at the table with a joyful smile on his face, and Erik started wondering whether he was actually capable of looking... no, not sad, that would have been too much to ask for, but maybe _neutral_. 

The answer seemed to be a definite _no_ , because the boy's eyes lightened up even more when he noticed that Erik and his normally murderous facial expression had returned. He jumped up with such enthusiasm that Erik had to stop his chair from falling with a quick movement of his fingers, hand hidden strictly behind his back; and Erik concluded that he was either very naïve or simply inattentive. Or both. 

He held out his hand anyway, and was pleasantly surprised when the boy grabbed and shook it once, with a grip that was reasonably firm but not uncomfortably intense. He also looked Erik dead in the eye during the handshake, and despite the constant smiling and the blissfully bright blue of his eyes, Erik almost believed he was real. 

"Charles Xavier," the boy shone at him, and Erik realized he had forgotten to introduce himself. 

"Yeah, right, Erik Lehnsherr here," he managed. Charles somehow did not seem to be distracted by his attempt to make everything as awkward as possible, but Erik mentally slapped himself on the back of his neck anyway. 

"It's very nice to finally meet you, Erik; Emma has told me so much about you." Charles' warm hand slipped out of his and Erik blinked at his empty palm a few times. "What she never said is that you've got such a beautiful apartment. Did you furnish it yourself? It looks amazing, the way you made use of such a small space, it's absolutely stunning!" 

"Uh. Thanks and everything, but this is actually what most flatlets look like, like, in the whole world. You can't really vary how you use nine square metres, you know." 

So this is how you ruin the cheerful atmosphere Charles had built by simply entering the flatlet. One more mental slap. 

"Yes, I suppose that's right." Charles' cheeks may have flushed a little but his smile did not fade at all. "I just fell in love with the idea of putting your bed on the roof of the two smaller rooms, it's really practical. And very smart, of course." 

Erik decided that he liked the sight of Charles' smile too much to admit that the majority of people with flatlets are forced to do the same thing, thanks to the lack of space. Erik also decided to make Charles keep talking, because no matter how irritating he usually found the act of chatting, the boy's British accent was a real miracle to listen to. 

"Thanks," he said eventually. "Want some coffee?". 

Charles sat back down and rested himself on his elbows, his fingers gently massaging his temples again. "Maybe a cup of tea, if it's not too much of a problem." 

"I should've known," Erik snorted out, and Charles burst out in laughter. 

"Yes, I'm sadly aware of how painfully typical I am," he grinned at Erik. "But actually, I was only thinking that, if you had some ice at home, maybe a glass of iced tea would do better than a cup of hot coffee." 

"You'll be perfect at German if you can improvise these sentences just like that." 

"I thought German was more about long words than long sentences." 

"German is about everything that can make your life more complicated." 

Erik noticed that they had stared at each other for the last few minutes without breaking eye contact. Erik decided that this did not count as flirting since he was not even doing it on purpose. Erik tore his gaze away from Charles' eyes and marched over to the kitchen counter. While he was pouring water in the tea kettle, he found out he could recall the exact shade of their bright blue colour. 

"So," he broke the silence when he saw that Charles was admiring the empty walls again with the same strange enthusiasm as before, "why do you need German in the first place?" 

Charles turned his attention back him. 

"Sorry?" 

"I asked why you needed German." 

"Oh, right. I'm sorry, I just love the colour of your apartment, it matches you perfectly." 

"I don't think you know me well enough to say that." 

"I can assure you, I know you just well enough." His piercing blue gaze dug into Erik's again. 

 _So he is out-going enough to believe that literal eye-fucking is a_ _just some everyday_ _thing to do._  

Erik was going to have a hard time. 

"What was your question again?" Charles eventually asked. Erik had to clear his throat, and maybe his mind along with them. 

"Why you wanted to learn German." 

"Alright. I'd say I never actually wanted to learn it, I just feel uncomfortable if I don't understand one single word that's spoken around me, in a city where I'm planning to spend my next semester, you know." 

"Okay," Erik said hesitatingly. "So you're trying to say that you're going to study in Munich." 

"Exactly." 

"Okay." He finished Charles' tea and threw some ice cubes into it. "Sugar, lemon? Milk?" 

"God, no!" Charles laughed, and for a moment it seemed like the whole flatlet was smiling back at him. Erik may have grinned too. "Just some lemon juice, please." 

Erik poured more coffee into the mug he had already used this morning, and walked back to the table. He almost moved a chair out of his way without using his hands, but he realized just in time that he really was not supposed to show Charles what he was capable of. So he just handed his glass to Charles, and pulled a chair closer to himself, strictly grabbing it with his free hand. 

"So what you want is no perfect fluency in German, right?" he asked. "But the ability of making people understand you." 

"I guess that sounds like a nice start," Charles agreed. Probably agreed. Erik was not entirely sure if that was what he meant. 

"Then we'll just start with the basics. You know, answering really simple questions about yourself and this semester." 

"Right." 

"Okay then. What exactly do you study? So that I know what kind of vocabulary to—" 

"Genetics and biophysics," Charles interrupted with a bright smile. 

"What." 

 

* 

 

Two more minutes were left till the beginning of their second lesson; Erik knew that for sure because the clock on the microwave showed 8:58 and there was no way Charles was going to be late. He also knew for sure that Charles was going to be well-dressed, well-prepared and well-behaved. The well-dressed part was also true for himself, more or less, since his sleeveless black shirt could almost be considered neat; and he had never really cared about his behaviour. But being prepared well enough—he was not so sure about this one thing. He had to admit to himself that he could have done (and was probably supposed to do) a bit more research on whatever Charles was going to study in Munich to be able to actually help him with the language; but he had been busy throughout the whole week. Busy with lying on his mattress and listening to his phone ringing. His stepfather had started trying to get in touch with him, and, since his calls reminded him of the officially terrible childhood years he had had thanks to Shaw, he decided that he had every right to forget about his one single duty and watch low-standard YouTube series for five days. Then he realized that he had less than thirty-six hours left to master _genetics and biophysics_ in German. 

Well. He did not exactly master it anyhow. 

Now he poured iced tea into a mug, boiling hot coffee into another, and placed them on the table. He even managed to put on his heavy silver rings (a snake, two dragons, a pentagram, another dragon, a huge A with a circle around it, a long piece of fake barbed wire) before he heard the gentle knocks on the door. 

"I'm coming!" he shouted, just in case Charles believed that he was not, and opened the door for him. 

"Hey!" A bright smile flashed across Charles' face as he entered the flatlet. He looked as if he had been awake and having the time of his life for hours, so it was probably one of his average mornings. "Are you alright?" 

"Sure." Erik followed him into the kitchen and watched him take off his sneakers. He was wearing beige socks that looked soft and warm and _fluffy_ , and made Erik smile for some reason. 

"Alright then, I was worried because you seemed to be a bit tired." Charles took a seat at the kitchen table and pulled a notebook out of his leather backpack. "Oh, and you made tea, how nice!" 

"It's nothing," Erik shrugged and sat down opposite him. Charles took a sip from the mug. 

"It must be something, because it tastes amazing," he said after licking his lips quickly. "Thank you, Erik." 

Erik was concentrating fully on his words. _(Who on Earth even wears slipper socks inside their shoes?)_  

"It's nothing," he repeated, then cleared his throat. "So, have you done your homework? ... God, that sounds weird." 

Charles grinned at him and pointed at his notebook. "Of course, this is it." 

"That sounded even more weird," Erik mumbled and he immediately earned a cheerful laugh from Charles. 

"It's fairly normal for me," he admitted, still smiling. Erik raised an eyebrow. 

"Why am I not surprised?" He then opened the notebook and raised his other eyebrow too. " _Now_ I am surprised. Are these the words you want to know in German?" 

"Yes, and some phrases as well," Charles nodded. "I know it's not too much, but you said we should start with the basics, so—" 

"You're a way better person than I am, never forget that." 

"Sorry?" Charles stared at him, seemingly surprised. Erik shook his head. 

"Nothing. I'll look these up in a dictionary or something because I don't understand, like, the half of them." He turned a page. "Are you sure you're going to need _heterochromia_?" 

"I study genetics, Erik." Charles said that like it should have been obvious, so Erik gave up. 

" _Heterochromie_ _,_ " he sighed. "Feminine. But I thought your lessons were going to be held in English." 

"Yes, of course; we exhibitioners have got separate lectures. But how am I supposed to communicate with the locals unless I know all this in German as well?" 

Erik wanted to actually smile at him when he realized that Charles did not care about his incorrect phrasing, caused by the displeasing fact that he had never seen the inside of a single building dedicated to higher education; but then he understood the second sentence too and snorted loudly instead. 

"You could, like, talk about stuff you like?" he suggested. 

"I _love_ genetics." 

"You could talk about genetics in English and about everything else in German." 

Charles did not seem to understand what he was trying to imply. "I'm not going to expect anyone to speak my native language when I'm in their country and can't even ask about their lectures in theirs." 

"Okay." Erik took a sip from the coffee; it tasted bitter and heavy on his tongue. He was just about to ask if Charles had learned the expressions they had discussed last week, when his gaze fell upon a word on the very top of the next page, written in neat cursive. 

Charles must have seen how shocked he was, because he stood up, walked to the chair next to him, and after sitting back down, just casually, put an arm on the back of his chair. His hand brushed against Erik's bare neck during the process ever so slightly. 

"Oh, you noticed my great work," he said, a bit maybe later than it would have been logical. About a minute later. "I wrote a short summary of the thesis I'm planning to finish my years at Oxford with." 

Erik could have asked him about the way he had put together another bloody complicated sentence just like that; or about the fact that he studied at Oxford and had not even mentioned it before. Instead, his only question was: "Mutation?" 

"Exactly." Charles turned his head to smile at him and Erik decided to keep staring at the notebook. "More precisely, human genetic mutation, but I was too lazy to write it all down. I guess I'll have to explain it anyway." 

"Explain first why you want to write your thesis about—this," Erik suggested. "I mean, I believe in lots of crazy shit, but weird alien-like creatures are still not my thing, so I'm not sure if your professors at Oxford will like them." 

"They will love them, I assure you," Charles said with a confident smile. "They will know better than to imagine mutants the way low-standard horror movies portray them." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Let's just assume that mutants live among us, and most of them are seemingly the same as humans," Charles started, and his voice became a bit slower and deeper as if that had helped him explain his theory. "But some of them can light a fire without needing a match. Or quench this fire with water that comes out of nowhere. Or freeze this water with nothing but a movement of their hand. Some of them might be able to change what they look like. Or teleport. Or use telekinesis. Or read your mind. Anything, literally." 

 _And Charles knows Emma._ Erik swallowed hard. 

"Why are you even interested in this?" he asked, his voice trembling a little. Charles smiled at him, and placed a light hand on his. 

"Because," he said quietly, "they mesmerize me." 

A long minute passed. Erik pulled his hand away as gently as he could, and he cleared his throat. Then, after a quick moment of taking all possible outcomes into consideration, he leaned back into Charles' arm and turned to face him completely. And to touch his knee with his own, strictly by accident. 

"Can you say that in German too?" he asked with a careful smile. 

" _Denn_ _sie_ _faszinieren_ _mich_ ," Charles answered without thinking, but with such an obvious accent that Erik could not help but grin. 

 _So much for the flirty moment._  

Charles wrinkled his nose. "What?" 

"The translation was perfect," Erik said quickly. "And I'm not saying that your accent is not perfect, but it is also noticeable." 

"I'll just keep my accent then." Charles grinned back at him, and Erik was somehow pretty sure that he had not heard the second part of the sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! Feedback is always appreciated ♥
> 
> In the next chapter, there's a bottle of champagne and a chess board involved.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ [stuckinthosefandoms](http://stuckinthosefandoms.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm not a native speaker so just tell me if you find any mistakes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chess has always been a metaphor.

For their sixth lesson, Charles brought a bottle of Dom Perignon, as well as a suspiciously angled, gift-wrapped package. Erik was busy enough with observing these two to forget to let him enter the flatlet, so he had to hand over the package while they were still standing in the doorway.

"I originally planned to give it to you at the end of the lesson, but it was too big to hide in my backpack, so." He smiled warmly at Erik. "Surprise."

"It is one," Erik agreed, and finally managed to step out of the way. The wrapping paper felt cool and slippery against his palms.

"And this is the other," Charles said while taking off his shoes, and almost landed on the floor, because he had thought it would be a good idea to try and lift the champagne with the hand he should have used to keep himself from falling.

"And a broken spine will be the third one if you can't be more careful," Erik grumbled after catching both him and the bottle. Charles' lips curled up into a bright smile.

"Not if you care for me too." Erik stared at him and he climbed out of his arms with an even wider grin. "I mean, thank you."

"You're welcome." Erik put the bottle on the kitchen counter. "So what are we celebrating?"

Charles finally got rid of his shoes and sat down at the table to take a sip from his iced tea. (It had been waiting for him since Erik had got up. He had made it before starting his workout routine.)

"My lectures are starting next week," Charles announced with a bright smile and shining eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, and I'm _so_ excited!"

"I mean, yeah, that's great, but are we celebrating that?" By now, Erik had checked the fridge and found out that it was working more or less properly; so he put the champagne into it. Even though he could still only hope that it would not freeze.

Charles nodded eagerly. "Of course, I only get to spend a whole semester in Munich once!"

"Alright." Erik did not have any more comments. He walked back to the table to sit down next to Charles—that was something he had started doing after their second meeting. After (and very much not because of) listening to Charles' theory about mutation.

Mutation. _Shit._ He could feel a well-known tension build up in his muscles the moment he remembered Charles' words. He had talked to Emma since then; he had asked her if she had told anything to Charles; he had forbidden her to ever mention it in front of him. And every time he brought up the subject, Emma had told him to calm down, because, she always said, there was nothing to be worried about.

For Erik, the possibility of getting identified as a mutant was something to be worried about, since the only person who had ever seen his powers did not really treat them the way he should have. When he mentioned this to Emma, she burst out laughing.

"Don't be so over-dramatic," she said, "or I'll have to start calling you a drama queen. Or worse, I might get offended, and you know how much you don't want that."

"Offended?" Erik repeated, completely confused.

"Yeah." Emma had stopped laughing by then and was staring right into his eyes, her gaze sharp like a diamond. "When I met you, you had everything. Money, education, even a loving father—everything you could need. And you did what? You fucking betrayed him!"

"He was never my father," Erik answered. Emma laughed again, harshly and hysterically this time.

"Because you never let him be! You rather threw away all your amazing opportunities than to let him close to yourself, just once."

Erik started laughing the same way as Emma had done before, and felt a wave of satisfaction run through his whole body when he saw a glimpse of fear in her eyes. He stepped closer to her, and she took a step back immediately. "He got way closer to me than you could ever imagine," he hissed.

"I guess that was not close enough for you," Emma answered with the same aggression as before, but her voice was trembling now. Erik shook his head, grinning widely.

"You're so cute when you try to explain me shit you don't have the slightest idea about."

"That's not what you said when you came to my house in the middle of the night and begged me to help you escape!”

"What did I say then?" Erik asked, and grabbed her wrist. He did not have to look down to know what exactly he was holding; he knew the feeling of the cool diamond against his palms quite well. "What did I say that still makes you think that my childhood was what all kids dream about?"

"You said you had run away from him because you were scared." Emma tried to free her hand but Erik held it firmly in place. "And I helped you because I felt that you were thinking the same. But I hated you the whole time because you never realized that you should have been anything but scared!" She tried to pull her hand away again and Erik let her this time. "He loved you so much," she went on; Erik could hardly believe how heartbroken she suddenly sounded. "He would never have hurt you. But you hurt him with your betrayal and you know that. This is why you don't pick up the phone when he calls, right? You're still scared of him because you don't understand that he has forgiven you."

Erik took a step back, and when he spoke, his voice was husky and raw.

"I never needed to be forgiven."

 

*

 

Maybe he had dazed off for somewhat longer that he should have, because Charles was staring at him when he finally looked up, eyebrows worriedly lifted, elbow on the table, head in his palm, two fingers close to his temple like he could not decide whether to scratch it or not.

"Erik!" He said his name like they had just met after a long time of being apart, like he was surprised, relieved and really happy at the same time; and he immediately pulled his fingers away from his head. "Are you alright?"

"Sure, just—thinking about what else I could teach you." Erik forced a thin smile on his face; it did not reach his eyes. "You're bloody smart, I'm starting to believe that you don't even need me anymore."

That was no actual lie, he really had wondered a lot about how long Charles was going to need his help. In the past six weeks he had proven himself to be one of the most intelligent and gifted people Erik had ever met; he did almost as well as Shaw, if not better. Which was probably the reason he kept staring at Erik despite having heard the answer.

"I don't believe you," he said calmly. Erik kept the smile on his face.

"You should. Don't underestimate yourself, you really are—"

"I know what I'm capable of, Erik," Charles interrupted. "I know a lot more about that than you ever will. What I don't know is what you've been thinking about, but I'm sure it was nothing positive."

Erik let go of the smile and snorted. "How would you know that?"

"You didn't look happy."

Erik really wanted to snort again, but he decided to be polite this time and simply rolled his eyes instead.

"I know what my face looks like, Charles. I never look happy."

"Yes you do." Charles touched his shoulder gently, then forgot to pull his hand away. "You just can't see it."

"I don't carry a mirror with me all the time."

"That's right, you don't." Charles still seemed to be relaxed, and his eyes shone as breathtakingly as they always did. Erik would have preferred silently staring at them, instead of arguing over something Charles did not know anything about. "But even if you did, you would never look into it when you're happy. Do you know why?"

"I know that you're about to tell me."

Charles still did not look like he was pissed at him, which Erik would have understood completely. "Because," he answered, "you never concentrate on your happy moments. You don't even notice them like most people do; you get lost in them instead, too much to realize how you are feeling. And that's exactly what I find so beautiful in you."

Erik stared at him breathlessly.

"Thank you, I guess," he managed. Charles was still smiling widely.

"See? You're happy now," he said. Happily. "And you are happy when you hear me talking in German; you are happy when you have time to sit down and read; you are happy when you get a new piercing, it's really pretty, by the way—has no one ever told you about this?"

Erik awkwardly raised his hand to touch the industrial piece he had got a few days ago, when Shaw's phonecalls had become too much. Angel, his piercer had been pretty surprised to see that on his right ear, between two helixes, he had enough place left for such a large one.

"You noticed it," he said slowly. Charles nodded.

"Of course I did, it really is beautiful. Does it still hurt?"

"It's not that bad. It was bad when I got it, because I needed two holes for it so it hurt twice, and it was pretty hard to get ready for the second one while the first was still aching." He cleared his throat. "But it was worth a bit of pain for me."

"It absolutely was," Charles agreed, and lifted his hand from Erik's shoulder. "May I?"

"Sure. If you're into disgusting stuff, you can touch my spider bites too," Erik grinned. "Those are almost five months old and still completely sore."

Charles touched the industrial one carefully. Erik wished he had felt it, but his ear was not healed enough to let him sense anything but the pain coming from the wounds.

"Beautiful," Charles hummed again. "And which one is the snake bite? I'm sorry, I don't know why I always forget their names."

"It's fine, you don't have to know anything about them," Erik said, and pointed towards his mouth. "I've got spider bites, they're the two rings on the left side of my lower lip. You have snake bites if it's one piercing on each side."

"Oh, right. My sister wanted to have that."

"Snake bites?" Erik asked, feeling surprised. "Is this sister of yours the one you've told me about?"

"Yes she is. Raven. Why?"

"I don't know, you always say that she's smart and pretty and stuff—"

"You're smart and pretty too," Charles said decisively, "and you've got much more piercings than two snake bites." Before Erik could answer, he lowered his hand to cup his face, and carefully pressed his thumb against the spider bites.

Erik took a sharp breath, and Charles kept observing the piercings, or his lips, or whatever.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked softly. Erik nodded. "Sorry, I didn't mean to. I saw that you didn't feel the one in your ear, so I thought this one wasn't going to hurt either."

"It's okay." Erik lifted his hand, placed it on Charles' for a moment, then he pulled both of their hands away from his piercings. "What about discussing this in German?"

" _Gerne,_ " Charles smiled at him, and reached for his backpack with his free hand. Erik realized that he was still holding the other one. He gently placed both of their hands on the table, and caressed Charles' palm with his thumb before pulling away.

"I still can't ask if you've got your homework without giggling," he said.

"Does it make you feel uncomfortable that you're in charge?"

That was unexpected. Erik stared at Charles, not sure if he had understood everything correctly; but Charles was seemingly focusing on his backpack, in search for his notebook. It was probably hidden by the soft grey cardigan that covered everything else inside the bag.

"There it is," he finally said and pulled it out from under the cardigan. He grinned at Erik for a second, he had probably noticed the reaction his little comment had got out of him; then he turned his attention back to the notebook. "I have translated the summary of my thesis," he said while opening it. "I have also checked my vocabulary so I'm almost entirely certain that I used the right words, but I'm not sure about the grammar. Would you...?"

"Yeah, sure." Erik leaned closer to the notebook to read the essay; he could feel Charles' gaze on his face the whole time. After a few awkwardly silent minutes, which he spent concentrating on not concentrating on whatever Charles was staring at, he concluded that there were no mistakes in it.

Charles' face lit up.

"That's one more reason to celebrate," he said, and closed the notebook. "Would you like to open your gift right now? And the champagne as well, if you want to."

"I thought you wanted to learn," Erik scowled, and Charles shrugged simply.

"We can do that later, if that's want you want. But first, I really want to see your face when you open it!" His eyes were shining again, and Erik could not bring himself to ruin the moment.

"I suppose you're not talking about the champagne," he said finally. Charles' lips curled into a wide grin.

"God, Erik, you'll love it _so_ much." He reached for the gift-wrapped package and pushed it towards Erik on the table. "Come on."

The edges of the wrapping paper were taped together too precisely to be destroyed by a quick movement. Erik removed the long pieces of tape carefully, then turned to face Charles.

"You're too excited," he said while lifting the wrapping paper. "I'm not sure if I should look at it."

"Believe me, you want to." Charles did not wait for an answer; he grabbed the content of the package instead and held it up in front of Erik's face. "So, what do you think?"

Erik needed a moment to realize what he had got. Then his mouth dropped open.

"You bought me a chess board," he said. "You bought me a fucking antique chess board and a bottle of the best champagne ever."

"You can only have one half of them," Charles corrected him quickly. "I bought the champagne for both of us, and I seriously doubt that you can have an exciting game on your own, so—"

"You bought me a chess board," Erik interrupted. "What the hell did I do to deserve that?"

"Was that positive?"

"Do I not look happy?"

Charles' smile shone at him. "You look happier than ever," he said.

Erik took the board from his hands, and caressed it gently. He needed some self-control in order not to press a kiss onto it.

"How did you find out that I wanted this?" he asked. "No, another question: do you even know how much I wanted this?"

"I heard when you told it to Emma," Charles answered. Erik tore his gaze away from the board to look at his slightly flushed cheeks, and furrowed his eyebrows immediately.

"We've never met her at the same time."

"No, I mean, I heard _that_ you told it to Emma." Charles blushed a little more. "She sometimes talked about you before the lessons, so that I was less nervous about them."

 _Charles being nervous about a social activity?_ Erik was not convinced at all. He glanced at the chess board, then back at Charles again, but he still looked innocent. Maybe a bit too innocent.

"Alright." Erik gave up. "I'll go and get the drinks."

"Thank you," Charles smiled at him, and for a second he did not remember why he had been feeling confused in the first place. "I'll try to find the pieces then; I know that I have put them in my bag but I have no idea if they're still there."

"I'm pretty sure they didn't escape," Erik said over his shoulder, on his way to the fridge. Charles grinned mysteriously.

"You don't know that, my friend."

Erik burst out laughing.

 

*

 

The chess pieces had not escaped and the expensive champagne did not taste any different to the cheap sparkling wines Erik had tried before. But his chess partner was hard to defeat, and this was a completely new experience for him. Charles played calmly and wisely, and, unlike his previous opponents, he did not look like he was trying to murder Erik's black pieces one by one. His eyes were shining the whole time, even though he kept them focused on the board, and he was biting his lower lip in attempt to avoid grinning.

It was becoming redder and redder.

"What's so funny?" Erik asked when he could not concentrate on the game anymore. Charles took a quick sip from his champagne, and wet his lips with his tongue. Now Erik had to concentrate on looking at his eyes, which would not have been so much of a challenge if his mouth had not looked even more beautiful.

_I have probably drunk too much._

He did not look at his full glass. He knew anyway that this did not have anything to do with the alcohol. Maybe with the fact that Charles had bought it for him, sweet, dear, caring Charles, but not with the alcohol itself.

_Alright, I really have drunk too much._

"I'm just enjoying the game," Charles answered, and Erik needed a moment to remember what the question, his own question was. "It's weird for me to need more than an hour to win."

"Maybe you won't win this game," Erik grinned at him, and his gaze fell back upon the board. It may have traced the gentle curves of Charles' face and the soft line of his jaw before doing so.

He moved his knight (the one he still had—he had lost the other ten minutes earlier) to capture a white bishop; and it was captured by Charles' queen immediately.

"Not the best idea," he grinned again, and he was just about to capture the queen as well, when he saw a self-satisfied smirk on Charles' face. Erik would not have thought he was capable of smiling like that.

"Alright, I'm getting nervous," he said. Charles pointed at his side of the board wordlessly.

Erik swore loudly.

"Checkmate," Charles grinned. "And also, language. Please."

"How the hell did you do that?"

"I took advantage of your lack of concentration."

"I _was_ concentrating!"

"Try concentrating on the game next time."

Erik was still staring at him when Charles' smile softened, and Erik reached over the table to hold his hand. Charles pulled away before he could.

A wave of fear flashed through Erik.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly. "I enjoyed the game too, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not that, Erik." Charles spoke in a low voice, Erik could hardly hear him. "This is going to sound much worse than I want it to, but I bought the gifts to say thank you for everything you've done to help me. Because..." He took a deep breath, and lifted his gaze to look into Erik's eyes. "There won't be a next lesson. I'll have to start concentrating on my lectures, and I don't think I'll have enough time to be here."

He had probably been expecting Erik to react with the same sadness that could be seen on his own face, because he seemed to be completely shocked when Erik started laughing instead.

"Erik?" he asked carefully.

"Charles." Erik reached for his hand again, and managed to grab it this time. "Damn, you looked so devastated, I almost thought you were going back to England!"

"Does it matter where I am if we can't meet?"

"Of course we can." Erik grabbed his wrist with his free hand, and caressed the soft skin with his thumb. "You don't have to come over every week if you don't want to, but I'll be here if you feel like playing chess or anything."

Charles swallowed hard.

"God, you're making this even more awkward for me," he murmured. He still looked worried, but his eyes were shining again and he was talking much louder than before. "I would love to stay in touch with you, Erik, and I'll do everything I can to make that possible."

"Then where's the problem?"

"I won't be able to pay for the lessons if we don't have them."

Erik blinked a few times.

"What?"

"Please don't murder Emma for telling me about your financial state," Charles said quickly. "I just really want to keep helping you, alright? And I know you won't let me do that without something I can actually pay for, so—"

Erik chose this moment to lean over the table and kiss him softly on the lips. Charles returned it immediately, his free hand came up to caress the back of Erik's neck, and Erik's hands found their way into his hair.

"Maybe I could just take you out for dinner regularly," Charles mumbled.

"Shut the fuck up."

 

*

 

The chess pieces had fallen on the ground, the champagne tasted dry on Charles' skin, and Erik found it harder and harder to breathe with every second that passed. He was already fully naked. Charles still had his jeans on, and he watched with a innocent smile as Erik was trying to unbutton them and failing all of his attempts.

"Let me help," he said finally, and gently brushed Erik's hands out of the way. After he had defeated the buttons, it was Erik who pulled off his jeans and underwear anyway.

Charles lifted the nearly empty bottle that he had placed next to the mattress.

"Cheers," he grinned, and took some into his mouth. It was still there when he pulled Erik closer for a kiss, and it leaked onto their chests when they sat up. Erik leaned down to drink it up from his lap.

"Cheers," he echoed, and Charles laughed at him.

"Come here, gorgeous." He tangled his fingers into Erik's hair to pull him back, then put an arm around his waist and flipped them over.

 _Gorgeous. Beautiful. Erik._ Erik never liked being complimented, it had always made him feel weak, but now that Charles was whispering all these words into his mouth, sucking them into his neck, kissing them onto his bare chest, he completely lost control over himself. Moaning in response to Charles' gentle touches was not enough; he moaned at every kiss, at every word, at every tug at his hair. Then Charles rolled off him and pressed his body against his while lying on the mattress, and they were kissing again, lazily, like they had all the time in the world.

When Charles reached for the champagne again, Erik caught his hand in the middle of the movement, and took the bottle from him. He kneeled above Charles (which was not that easy without dropping the bottle), and poured golden champagne onto his chest. He kissed it up from his skin, then his lips slid deeper down; he took him into his mouth and he wanted to laugh for a

second, because Charles sounded so relaxed, so comfortable, so fucking alive that he almost made Erik forget what he was supposed to do with such a beautiful man lying under him.

"God," Charles muttered and pulled him back up for another sloppy kiss. Erik grinned into his mouth. "God, do you know what you're doing to me?"

Erik decided not to admit to himself that he let out that throaty sigh at the words, instead of Charles' arms around his torso that turned them over again. Then he forgot about all decisions he had ever made, because Charles was suddenly pressing soft kisses all over his body, slowly and sensually; literally pampering him in a way no one else ever had. Charles only touched his lap with his wet lips, and he had him groaning and whimpering and begging for more.

"You're amazing," he whispered when he finally kneeled up. Erik was a sweaty mess under him.

"Do you ever run out of compliments?" he breathed.

"You had some nice compliments for me too when I was down there," Charles laughed softly. He then leaned down and kissed his lips, sharp teeth pressed against sensitive skin around his piercings. Erik gasped for air but he could not get any; and Charles was panting too when he finally broke the kiss. "Erik?" he started.

Erik looked at him, his flushed face, his swollen lips, his sweaty locks, his bright blue eyes full of desire, something Erik had never seen in them before; and he wanted to swear because of how fucking beautiful he was.

"If you're planning to be polite and ask if you may fuck me," he said, his voice husky and rough, "I'll probably punch you for not doing it already."

Charles grinned widely at him.

"Roll over."

He found the condom Erik had hidden from him the first time they had met; he found the nearly empty bottle of lube that he had not even tried to hide; and he found all those spots inside him that made Erik shiver and whimper and bite down on a pillow to muffle his broken moans. He pinned both of Erik's wrists to the mattress with one hand, and turned his head back towards himself with the other to steal more and more bruising kisses. He pressed his chest against Erik's back and Erik pressed his throbbing erection against the mattress and there was this moment when he could not see anything but the shining blue fireworks that had once been Charles' eyes and the whole world melted into a ductile mass of _Charles_ and _Bitte_ and _hör nicht auf_ and he could literally feel the touch of all the burning hot metal in the flatlet, in the building, maybe in the whole bloody street and he was not even surprised when he felt the kitchen counter tear itself out of the wall the moment he came.

He was still panting when he pushed Charles off him and showed him into the mattress, only to take his erection in his mouth again. Charles moaned beautifully, and Erik almost considered starting it all over just because of those sensual sounds he was making; but then Charles came too and Erik let himself fall on top of him and he suddenly realized how tired he was.

"Come here," Charles mumbled, and Erik climbed up a few more inches. Charles put two fingers under his chin and lifted his head, licked into his open mouth. He swallowed everything Erik could not, and Erik wished again he had had any energy left in himself for a next round.

He absolutely did not. He rolled off Charles instead and pulled him closer, making him the small spoon. He threw a lazy arm around his waist; and Charles grabbed his hand, lifted it to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, one by one.

There was a minute of silence.

Then: "Erik?"

"Yes?" he mumbled. Charles turned in his arms to face him.

"I loved playing chess with you," he whispered while looking into his eyes deeply, almost romantically. It was the most absurd comment Erik had ever heard after sex. Charles raised a hand and traced the lines between his lips, his nose and one of his eyebrows, connecting his piercings absently; and he looked so ridiculously sweet that Erik had to let out an exhausted laugh.

"So, fancy a return match?" he asked, and Charles' lips immediately curled up into a wide grin.

"I hope you don't mind if it ends exactly like the previous one."

Erik looked down from the gallery at the mess they have made in the small living room, then back at the mess they literally were.

"I'll do my best to make it end _exactly_ like the previous one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! Any kind of feedback is appreciated ♥
> 
> Next chapter will be up next week, with pieces of Erik's past and a _very_ awkward meeting.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ [stuckinthosefandoms](http://stuckinthosefandoms.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm not a native speaker so tell me if I screwed up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always awkward to meet your lover's family for the first time. But it's probably not supposed to be _this_ awkward.

It was September, Erik was at home and Emma was lying in his bed. Most of her was hidden under the duvet so all Erik could see was her right hand and the cigarette she was holding. She had new manicure; tiny, shiny pieces of fake jewel glistened on the long, white nails. It did not look bad.

"Thanks," Emma murmured and her hand slid back under the duvet. Erik could hear her inhale, then the cigarette appeared again and the ashes fell on the floor. A few more minutes passed, then she handed the cig to him and climbed out of the bed to sit on the floor next to him.

"Thanks," Erik said but he only stared at the cigarette. He was sitting on the very edge of the gallery, his legs swinging from the top of the ladder. Emma put one of her arms around his shoulders. "Feeling better?"

"Way better." Emma had spent the night with one of her oldest clients, and phoned Erik after the ninth shot of vodka. "You?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are _you_ feeling better?"

Erik stared blankly at her. "I'm not the one who had to be taken home yesterday evening."

"I mean, how are things going with Charles?"

"Does that have anything to do with how I am feeling?"

She slapped him gently on the back of his neck.

"If you want me to act like I can't hear your thoughts, then forget my first question. How are things going with Charles?"

"How should they be going?" Erik raised an eyebrow. "He's bloody intelligent; he literally learned everything you can need for everyday communication in the past two months."

"So what's next? Advanced lessons?"

"Biology and genetics lessons." He let her steal the cigarette back. "School is starting this week, you know; he won't have time for this. He's learned everything he'll need anyway."

"Yeah, maybe."

"One hundred percent."

"Fine, fine." She pushed him to the side and pressed a kiss to his cheek before climbing down the ladder. "If you really don't need anyone to talk to, I can leave."

"Why do you think I need—" Erik never finished the sentence, but slowly sighed instead. "Nevermind."

"Okay, see you later then." She put on her white leather boots and grabbed her bag. "Just call me if you change your mind."

"Sure."

"Fuckboy."

When she had left, Erik realized that he may have offended her, but he could not bring himself to care. His phone was buzzing inside his pocket again, and he was bloody sure that it was not Emma who decided to call and tell him what an asshole he had been. For the past three weeks. He took the phone out and shot a glance at the screen. Dontpickup, it read. Alright. He was not going to.

He tossed the phone on the mattress and climbed down the ladder. All he needed was to get as far away from every way of modern communication as possible. Of course, he could have simply

turned off his phone and disconnected his ancient laptop from Azazel's Wi-Fi network, but he had done these before and they never worked. If Shaw wanted to talk to him, he always found a way.

"Fuck it," he hissed and marched to the front door, he only stopped to step into his steeltoes. He did not bother tying the laces.

On his way down to the inner court, he reached into his pocket for a cigarette and his zippo, but he had left them in the flatlet, probably on the coffee table. He swore again quietly, when he heard a familiar voice from behind his back.

"Language, man," it said. Erik rolled his eyes. He did not need to think about who the voice belonged to; he had been counting the floors while he was walking down the staircase. He was on the third one.

"Shut the fuck up," he turned to face Azazel. The young man had red skin, a devil's tail and a wide grin on his face.

"You PMSing again?"

"You snooping into my business again?"

They glared at each other for a minute, then Azazel burst into laughter and walked closer to him, only to pull him into a hug. "Good to see you, man."

"You too." Erik patted him on the back and pushed him away gently. "Actually, I'm in a hurry, but we totally should talk later."

"Where are you going?"

Erik froze.

"Just to the gym, shouldn't skip one more day," he managed. Azazel nodded.

"You're pretty hardcore," he said.

"Thanks."

"I'm just being honest. You know, I wouldn't be able to work out in jeans and steeltoes, but it's really cool that you can do that."

"Um."

"Yeah." Azazel grabbed his elbow and pulled him towards the flat he shared with a friend from college. "Come on in, we've got coffee."

Erik let himself be led into the flat that looked about twice as big as his own. But, since the extra space had been used to create two separate bedrooms, the living room and the kitchen were arranged exactly the same way as in Erik's flatlet. Azazel showed the kitchen table to him; and Erik sat down to wait for the coffee.

"So," Azazel started when he had come back with two elegant cups. Erik took one of them and observed its elaborate pattern. It looked gayer than him.

"Please tell me that these were Janos' choice," he murmured. Azazel could not hide his wide grin.

"Of course they were," he answered and took a sip from his coffee. Erik did the same. The coffee was hot and strong, but also tasted like shit, compared to what he drank every morning. High quality coffee was the only thing he loved wasting money on.

And tattoos.

And piercings.

And band logo tops.

Anyway.

He swallowed the coffee and he could hear Azazel snap his tongue, as if he had been actually enjoying his drink.

"So," he repeated, clearing his throat, "how are things going with Charles?"

Erik nearly swallowed his own tongue this time.

"Why the hell do you guys keep asking this? No, I've got another question, who the hell told you about Charles?"

"He himself." Azazel looked surprised. "He didn't tell you? I helped him when he came to you for the first time and the bell wasn't working."

"Oh." Erik had to think for a second. "Yeah, he mentioned that. But he said he met a very nice young man from the third floor, not a devil-looking bitch from Hell itself, so I automatically assumed it was Janos."

" _Хуй тебе_."

"Sorry." Erik grinned at him, and Azazel, eventually, smiled back. "But there's nothing you'd find interesting. His semester is about to start so we had our last lesson last week, that's it."

"Since when does Erik Lehnsherr let go a guy he wants to keep fucking?"

"Okay, I'm pretty sure you weren't quoting Charles this time," Erik said. Azazel took one more sip.

"Yep, that one is Emma's."

That was the moment Erik stood up from the table and walked slowly and calmly towards the front door.

"Now where are you going?" Azazel shouted after him.

"Just a second, I'll be back as soon as I have killed her."

 

*

 

For that, he needed her to be in the same room as him. And for that, since she did not answer to the loud swearing he was trying to send her telepathically, he needed to call her. He managed to find his phone between the mattress and the wall, and found out that he had fourteen missed calls when he unlocked it. Only thirteen of them came from _Dontpickup_.

"What the hell," he mumbled when he saw the last call. That one was from Charles. He only hesitated for a second before calling him back; then swore silently because he had not cleared his throat before and he knew exactly how awkwardly hoarse he was going to sound.

Three long beeps later Charles answered the phone with a loud Erik! and almost enough enthusiasm in his voice to make Erik think that he was surprised by the call. Then he remembered that it was probably just the average level of cheerfulness Charles usually was on.

"Yeah, it's me, hey," he answered really competently. "You just called, what is it?"

"I wanted to ask you something _very_ important, Erik." Charles spoke hurriedly, like he was even more excited than usually. Erik could almost feel the warmth of his breath on his skin where the phone touched his face, and he literally saw his wide grin and the sparkling blue of his eyes.

_Alright, back to the phonecall._ He even cleared his throat now.

"Sure, go for it," he said.

"Would you want to meet me tomorrow?"

Erik could not keep himself from laughing. "Was that the very important question you wanted to ask?"

"Exactly!" Charles approved without caring about the sarcasm in his voice. Given his natural reflex to assume the best in others, he probably did not even notice that Erik sounded like that on purpose. "Because, and that's why it would mean so much to me if you could come, the most important person in my life is here to visit me; and I have already shown the whole city to her, but none of the important people I met here, so." He suddenly remembered to take a breath before going on. "It would be _so_ great if I could introduce you to her."

Erik hesitated.

"Look, I don't know this important friend of yours, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not the most flattering person you can show her."

"But you're the most interesting one. And the only one who's intelligent enough not to embarrass me," he added. Erik snorted.

"Thanks, I guess."

"It was an honest compliment!" Charles started laughing and the room lit up as if he had actually been there. Erik himself forgot to laugh when he heard it.

"Then you'd better not tell your friends at university about me, unless you want to make them jealous of my unlimited wisdom and understanding of the world around us," he eventually smirked, after finding his voice again. Charles laughed once more, more quietly and calmly this time, like he was considering what they had just said. Then, really slowly, his laughter faded, and Erik found themselves sitting in complete silence, listening to each other breathe. They could have been face to face, staring directly into each other's eyes, and it would not have felt any more intimate.

Charles cleared his throat.

"Do you ever realize that not having been at college doesn't make you any less of a person?" he asked quietly. It was Erik's turn to laugh, briefly and dryly.

"No," he said. "Are we finished?"

"Erik—"

"Charles."

Silence.

"Will you come?" Charles asked finally. " _Bitte._ "

" _Vielleicht_."

" _Bitte_."

Erik ended the call.

Only a minute later, when he had tried to talk to Emma but she had not picked up the phone, Charles called him back. Erik let his phone ring for a while, until Charles finally got bored with the pointless trying and sent him a message instead. _Half past ten, at the university,_ it read. _Don't be late, she will be anyway._

Erik tossed his phone aside with a sheepish grin.

 

*

 

He was not late, and neither was Charles' very important person. The only difference was that she had probably been planning to go, and he had only made up his mind an hour before. He had overslept a little—a habit he had developed since the more or less regular sex had started making him feel way more exhausted in the mornings than he usually was—so he had to do his training routine later. Which meant that at half past nine, ten minutes before having to leave his flatlet, he was still covered in sweat and trying to catch his breath. He had decided earlier in the morning that he was not going to attend Charles' little meeting with all the awkward small talk and unnecessary politeness he expected. Then he went to the tiny bathroom to wash the sweat off his torso, and his gaze fell on the pretty metallic toothbrush holder Charles had left on the edge of the basin. (As it had turned out the second time they had slept together, Charles found it perfectly normal to keep a toothbrush in Erik's flatlet; and he found it completely unimaginable to keep said toothbrush anywhere but in a proper holder. Erik still refused to put his own toothbrush in the suspicious metallic glass.)

He may have felt a hint of sentimentalism for a second, because he stared at the toothbrush holder a bit longer than it would have been necessary, then he stood under the shower with a loud growl.

"Remember that this is your fault," he warned Charles' innocent-looking blue toothbrush. In less than eight minutes, his boots were all laced up and he on his way to the university.

Now that he had actually arrived, he was not so sure anymore if this had been a good idea. He had secretly been hoping that Charles' friend would be late and he would have some time to talk to him privately; and he knew he had no chance the moment he noticed Charles. He was standing right next to the building, leaning lazily against the cool wall, wearing a shirt with a tie and the cosiest cardigan ever, his hair in light waves, tucked behind his ears, his hands in his pockets (Erik assumed he had been cold, otherwise he would never have done such a thing), and this could easily have been the sweetest sight Erik had ever come across if it had not been for the two young women standing right next to him.

_Alright, the friend got herself duplicated in the past twelve hours._

_It's all fine._

He was not sure how to greet them; he had even considered turning tail and escaping the whole situation by the time Charles noticed him. Luckily, he pushed himself away from the wall, and hurried towards Erik to get to him long before the girls would.

"You came!" he said when there were only a few metres between the two of them; then he got close enough to catch Erik's wrists and pull him into a tight hug. His fingers brushed against the bruises his nails had left on the soft skin of Erik's inner forearm, and Erik could not help but grin.

"Of course I did." He put his arms around Charles' waist and somehow forgot to pull them back when Charles tried to step away, so he was forced to stay close to him even when the two girls arrived. All he could do was turn around to face them. Erik did not kiss him, though—he was not sure what Charles had told his friends about him. Also, there were quite a few passers-by surrounding them, and if anyone had made one single comment about Charles being kissed by another guy, he would have had to murder them. It did not really matter to him that it would probably have influenced the girls' first impression about him badly—but it would have upset Charles.

Erik's quick decisions left them in a slightly awkward position, with Charles' back pressed against his chest and one of his hands resting on Charles' waist. He would have preferred putting both of them on his hips, but that would have been almost equal to snogging him in the middle of the street.

The girls finally arrived, and Erik only had a few moments to look at them before Charles started with the introductions. Erik had, apparently, already heard a lot about the blonde one.

"She's my sister," Charles said, and Erik held the hand the girl had extended towards him.

"Raven, right?" he asked. She nodded slowly, and he turned back to Charles. "You never told me she was this beautiful."

Raven did not blush but she looked like she was just about to.

"Thank you," she said, and her lips began to form a wide smile. At the same time, Erik saw Charles press his own lips together into an uncomfortably thin line. "It's very nice to meet you, Erik."

"You too," he assured her, and turned his attention to the other woman. "And you must be—"

He had no idea who she was, but Charles saved him just in time.

"She's Moira," he started, then paused immediately. "Well. She's my—"

"I'm his fiancé," Moira interrupted, and held out her hand for Erik to shake. "Moira MacTaggert, nice to meet you."

Erik blinked a few times.

"Yeah, you too, Erik Lehnsherr," he eventually managed, still stunned by her firm handshake. He was used to receiving nothing but light touches from women.

Charles kept awkwardly scratching his nose the whole time.

Somewhat later they ended up sitting in a nice little café near the university, where Charles had had dinner once with another exhibitioner (whose name Erik had already forgotten by the time they arrived). The place was alright, it looked neat and pretty but really crowded; it was a real miracle that they managed to find a free table anyway.

Erik helped Raven with her leather jacket, then got rid of his own before taking a seat next to her. She seemed to appreciate the attention he was paying her a bit too much, like she was not getting enough from anyone else, and Erik decided to give her what she wanted. He kept his focus on her, even when Charles tried to show how well he knew everyone at the table by ordering their desired breakfast without asking; and when she rolled her eyes at her brother, Erik could not help grinning.

By the time the waiter arrived with his black coffee, he had got to know that she worked as a model. He had even asked her if he could see some of her pictures, but she had only smiled and the almost-a-blush-but-without-colour expression had appeared on her face again.

"I don't think you'd recognize me," she had explained with an awkward smile. "We use a lot of make-up and wigs and everything to make ourselves look the way we have to."

Then their conversation was interrupted by the waiter, and, after a few bites from the fruit salad Charles had ordered her, Moira joined in.

"Tell us something about yourself, Erik," she suggested. "Charles really wanted to keep everything about you a secret, so I'm really curious now."

"Why would you want to do that?" Erik grinned at Charles, and earned a silent sigh as an answer. He turned back to Moira. "I'm not sure what to say," he admitted. "We met thanks to a mutual friend, because Charles wanted to learn German. I was literally his teacher for a while."

Raven leaned over the table to get closer to Charles.

"Kinky," she whispered. Charles rolled his eyes but Erik grinned again; this was the joke he had been planning to make for almost two weeks now. Moira did not seem to have heard the comment and was now staring at them, seemingly confused.

"So, how did _you_ get together?" Erik asked, and took a quick sip from his coffee. It tasted amazing but it was burning hot. Not even close to the right temperature.

Moira's eyes light up.

"Back at Oxford, before he left." She looked at Charles for some kind of affirmation, and he nodded eagerly.

"Yes, we found out that we could talk an awful lot about genetics. And mutation, of course. She encouraged me to make it the topic of my thesis." He smiled at her brightly, and Moira placed a hand on his under the table. Raven let her head fall onto Erik's shoulder.

"I've heard this a hundred times," she whispered, "and it never gets any less boring."

This time, he did not listen to what she said.

"So that's it?" he asked. "Long romantic conversations about stuff you're studying, and then boom, you're halfway into marriage?"

They looked at each other, and burst out laughing at the same time.

"You could say that," Charles answered, and Moira nodded eagerly.

"Absolutely. It took us less than a year to go from dating to engaged, thanks to our conversations. Just like you said. They are very important for us." She glanced at Charles with a bright smile and he grinned back at her; and for the first time since meeting Moira, a wave of jealousy ran through Erik. It probably had things to do with the warm commitment he saw in Charles' eyes. He could feel Raven's shoulder tense too, but she said nothing.

"So that's it?" he repeated. "You can talk so you get married?"

"Erik," Charles started carefully, but Moira laughed again.

"Yeah, you could say that too. I know it sounds like a banality, but you can't achieve anything without talking about your positive experiences and your problems as well."

"And mutation," Erik added, and he earned a lazy grin from Charles.

"And mutation," he nodded.

"That too," Moira agreed with the same wide smile as before. Erik did not blame her; being introduced as Charles' fiancé would have made him laugh all the time too. "But, you know, there's one thing I sometimes still find hard to do, but I know he wouldn't accept anybody without this." She looked at Charles again, and put her hand on his bicep when she got no reaction to what she had said. "You really have to be honest if you want to be with him."

Luckily, Erik was quick enough to lift his cup of coffee and cover his mouth with it before he could actually snort. The feeling of jealousy was long gone, and he almost felt sorry for the woman. Hell, no, he really _did_ feel sorry for her.

"Honesty, huh?" he finally managed, and turned to Raven. "Kinky."

She burst out laughing.

 

*

 

Charles arrived at his flatlet late in the evening, after he had taken the girls back to their hotel. Erik had almost started assuming that he was not going to come, but then he was standing in the doorway with his leather backpack that meant he was planning to stay the whole night, and a slightly awkward smile that meant he was feeling uncomfortable. Erik rolled his eyes and pulled him into the flatlet.

They did not fuck that night; they made love instead, or something that was surprisingly close to it. Charles bottomed but he was on top, straddling Erik's hips and riding him slowly, one hand on his chest, another under his head. Erik was holding his wrists, his thumbs running around in small circles on the soft, milk-white skin. Then Charles gasped once, twice, almost silently, and he came without another sound all over Erik's stomach; still, he did not stop moving until he made Erik come too, holding him firmly in place with gentle touches.

A few more gasps for air, and Charles climbed off him, only to cuddle him more comfortably. Erik put an arm around his shoulder.

"Any questions?" Charles murmured. Erik shrugged without really thinking about it.

"I'll ask them in the morning."

"Good."

For a minute, Charles kept trying to find a comfortable position for his hand on Erik's chest, and Erik kept thinking about the long way he was going to have to climb down to get to the shower. Then he cleared his throat quietly. Charles looked up to meet his gaze, and he pressed a kiss on the top of his messy locks.

"One question," he said. Charles nodded.

"Anything."

"What was all that stuff about honesty?"

Charles' whole body tensed for a second, but Erik's caressing fingers in his hair seemed to relax him.

"It really is important," he answered somewhat later. "It makes the difference for me between a one-night stand and a partner. I mean, whether I can trust them or not."

Erik really wanted to make him talk about fiancés too, but he saved that one for the morning.

"Which one am I?" he asked instead. Charles looked up at him from under half-closed eyelids.

"I don't know, which one do you want to be?"

"I don't know, why do you keep a fucking toothbrush in my flat?"

Charles grinned widely; then his grin faded and he ended up looking more serious than ever.

"Can I trust you?" he asked slowly, and Erik was not sure how to answer.

"What makes you trust people?"

"Knowing that they wouldn't lie to me."

"You can trust me then." Erik grinned at him. "I don't think you know me well enough to make me lie about anything."

Charles' face remained serious.

"I think I know how to make you lie," he murmured.

"Show me."

"You don't want that."

"Show me," Erik repeated. Charles propped himself up on his elbows with a quiet sigh, and pressed a long kiss on Erik's chest.

"What was the last school you went to?"

Erik froze. He did not even notice that his grin had slowly started to fade until he was staring at Charles with his lips pressed together but his eyes wide open. Shattered pieces of broken memories flashed through his mind—his own, thirteen-year-old self standing awkwardly in the principal's office; Shaw's calm voice telling him how good friends they are going to be; that last, wounded glance of his mother when she said goodbye on a school day that should have been the same as the others. But then some kid called her a whore for raising Erik on her own, without a father.

His father had died four years earlier. The kid did not know that, and Erik did not know that he did not know, but he knew now that he would not have cared. All he could focus on was hurting the kid as bad as he was only capable of, but his body would not move, he could not even lift his gaze from the ground, and Erik screamed in frustration and the kid screamed in pain, and when he looked up, the kid was covered in scars and bruises and _so much blood,_ and a long piece of barbed wire was still wrapped around his whole body.

Later it turned out that Erik had accidentally stolen a part of some fence, about a mile away from the school.

Erik swallowed hard.

"I," he started, and did not know what to say next. It was going to be anything but the complete truth anyway. Charles touched his face gently, and leaned above him.

"Liar," he whispered, his lips brushing gently against Erik's. Erik narrowed his eyes, and a second later Charles was lying under him, his hands pinned to the mattress above his head, and maybe a glimpse of fear in his eyes. Or just pure curiosity, Erik could not really decide.

"Don't you call me that again," he hissed, and his nails cut into Charles' wrists.

"Erik," Charles started carefully, but he never finished whatever he wanted to say. Erik leaned down and kissed him hard, with all the strength and force and power he had; he could feel Charles gasp for air and he could feel the soft lips lose control under his own; but what he felt with that unknown, neverbeen sense, deep down inside his guts, were the nails in the ladder that led up to the gallery, the pipes hidden inside the walls of his flatlet, the buttons and buckles and zippers on their clothes, the piercings in his skin and the complete emptiness in Charles', and the kitchen counter that had been torn out of the wall a long time ago. He closed his eyes and reached out for them, biting down hard on Charles' lips; and Charles gasped again, maybe at the sudden sensation of pain, maybe at the sound of metal being ripped out of the walls, and maybe at the feeling of weightlessness Erik's embrace gave him. They were levitating above the mattress, their clothes were levitating around them; the counter and the pipes were lying on the ground, most of them broken, torn out of their place.

Erik could almost see his mother's face for a moment.

He cried out and released it all; they fell back on the mattress with a loud thump. He did not dare to look at Charles. He pressed their cheeks together instead, still panting heavily, and suddenly he was not sure whose tears he felt on his skin.

"That's all the honesty I have," he breathed. Charles caressed his cheek gently, and he heard a relaxing voice inside his head.

_"Thank you, darling."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, I'm sending out a bucket of black coffee for every comment :D
> 
> Next chapter in progress - it finally has something to do with the title!
> 
> Talk to me on tumblr @ [stuckinthosefandoms](http://stuckinthosefandoms.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm not a native speaker so just tell me if I screwed something up.


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